


The Murky Future

by BlasphemousProphet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-03 13:16:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1746020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlasphemousProphet/pseuds/BlasphemousProphet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter fanfic that takes place years after the war is won.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stupid Angry Kids

Takes place in Rose and Scorpius’ Fifth year at Hogwarts  
“Granger,” curls a voice Hermione hadn’t heard in years. “Your son and my daughter are getting pretty close, aren’t they.”  
Hermione whirled around to face Draco Malfoy, wearing the expression he only wore from afar in the past, during times when he thought Hermione didn’t see him looking.   
“Malfoy.”  
“Hermione.”  
“Draco.”  
They shook hands breathlessly while Ron watched from afar disapprovingly, absently shoving Rose and her trunk onto the train.  
“Dad! Ow!”  
“What?”  
“That hurt!”  
“I’m sorry. I’m just-have a nice trip,” Ron told his children. “I want an owl a day. Or at least a week.” Ron leaned in for a hug and it struck him then how much he was going to miss them. They kept him and George company in the long quiet hours when the joke shop stayed open far past closing time, when Hermione was still at work and Harry was off traveling somewhere. Ron wondered what Hermione and Draco could possibly have to say to each other. The last time Hermione saw Draco, wasn’t his aunt torturing her with his wand?  
“Can we talk?”  
“Draco, you know I can’t.”  
“Hermione, you want to say goodbye to the kids?” said Ron, snaking an arm around her.  
“Remind them to take the pink packages,” said Hermione flusteredly.  
“What’s in the pink packages?” Draco asked as Ron walked away.  
“Socks.”  
“Hermione Granger, knitting socks…”  
“I bought them.”  
“Hermione!” Ron yelled.  
“You still look just as beautiful as that day in the library,” Draco whispered. “More beautiful, even.”  
There it was, that rare rewarding Hermione blush that only Draco could bring to her face. She bit her lower lip, something she knew used to drive him wild, as she walked away.  
The train was leaving and there was nothing Hermione could do but wave as her kids departed.  
“What were you talking to that prig about anyway?” snapped Ron.  
“He’s not a prig,” said Hermione absently. “Can you believe they’re gone?” she whispered. “Oh God, I’m tearing up, aren’t I? the house will be so quiet…”  
At the end of the platform Malfoy watched as Hermione leaned her head on Ron’s shoulder and walked away. She had forgotten about him entirely, just another strange encounter with someone she used to knew back when the wizarding world was clearly divided. These days the fractures weren’t as neat. Malfoy wished he had never seen them at all.  
\---------------------  
“Our parents were talking,” said Scorpius.  
“You never miss anything,” said Rose.  
“Everyone thought-“  
“My mom said-“  
“You go first.”  
“My grandmother told me that for a short time after the war was over and my grandfather was sentenced to the Dementor’s Kiss and dad and grandma were put on house arrest everyone thought he was going to get married to her.”  
“My mom said there were only a few eighth years at Hogwarts.”  
“Does she ever talk about it?”  
“Not much. Sometimes she tells me about the people who died. Moody, Fred, Lavender…”  
“Why?”  
“It’s safer to talk about the dead.”  
Rose rubbed her eyes. “This makes me sad,” she said.  
“Sorry,” whispered Scorpius, wrapping an ice cold arm around her. “We don’t have to talk about that.” He ran his hands through Roses’s perfect red curls. “We don’t have to talk at all.”  
Roses’s eyes were already closed. She had been up late getting Quidditch lessons from her father, who never went to sleep until her mom came home.  
\----  
“Who else?” asked Rose excitedly.  
“Oh, there were these two buffoons, Crabbe and Goyle, henchmen of Draco Malfoy, the biggest prat-“  
“Ron!”  
“What?”  
“She doesn’t need to hear about that.”  
“I’m not sad when dad tells it to me,” said Rose. “It makes me feel proud.”  
Hermione lay down in Rose’s bed with her and held her hand. “Tell us both,” she said.  
“One time your mother punched Draco Malfoy in the face! And Mad Eye Moody turned him into a ferret! And Dumbledore…he killed Dumbledore!”  
“No, he did not,” said Hermione. “Look at me, Rose. Dumbledore was very sick. He and Snape had planned his death out. Draco would never have done that. He wouldn’t have gone through with it.”  
“You think so?” snapped Ron.  
“We were just stupid angry kids back then,” Hermione said softly. “He was all talk.”  
“Even when he watched Bellatrix-“  
“Ron!” Hermione motioned to Rose. “He’s a good man.”  
“And good men are hard to find,” mumbled Rose as she fell asleep to the familiar sound of her parents arguing, kissing, and arguing some more. “She got your brains,” said Ron, smiling fondly.  
\-------  
“Hermione! You’re back!” Harry caught Hermione in a huge hug, lifted her up and twirled her around.  
“Hello, Ron,” he said, awkwardly putting Hermione down. Ever since Harry had been appointed head auror for the Ministry of Magic without finishing eighth year and also owned and played in a professional Quidditch team, Ron hadn’t been able to look at him directly.  
“So how was it?” asked Hermione.  
“I have to talk to you,” said Harry. They both strode towards Hermione’s office. “Oh, sorry, Ron, it’s official business. Boring stuff, really. You can come if you want to,” said Hermione.  
“Remember when official business was us pouring over the Marauder’s Map crammed under an invisibility cloak?” asked Ron.  
Any mention of the past had them all standing silent. Ron felt out of place and underdressed for the Ministry of Magic.  
“I’m going to go,” said Ron. “Have you seen Ginny yet?”  
Harry was too surprised to respond at first. “Not yet.”  
“She worries about you,” said Ron. “She worries about all of us.”  
Then Ron walked out, taking a certain comfort in knowing the next conversation Harry would have with Hermione would be about how worried they were for him.  
\---  
“Hey, George,” said Ginny.  
George squinted before opening his eyes fully. “Aren’t you supposed to be racing or something?”  
“Its off season for the Harpies, remember?”  
“Right.”  
Ginny sat down and moved George’s cup of butterbeer away from him. He still poured two cups, she noticed. Even now, he still wasn’t used to not being a twin.  
“Today’s my anniversary,” said Ginny. “Harry’s not even here.”  
“Yes, he is,” said George. “Apparated out of here ten minutes ago. Just came to say hi before seeing Hermione.”  
“He’s having an affair,” said Ginny.  
“That does make a lot of sense considering…”  
“What?”  
“How jumpy and cagey he’s been lately, running off for weeks at a time, missing his own games, rubbing his scar…”  
“You don’t think?”  
“Just an old habit,” said George, pushing the extra cup of butterbeer towards Ginny. They both drank and became exceedingly drunk with ease.  
“Ironic,” muttered George.  
“What?”  
“I own a joke shop now. That your husband paid for. I used to co-own it. And now nothing seems funny anymore.”  
“That’s not true,” said Ginny.  
“Say something funny to me. Anything at all,” George pleaded. “Make me laugh.”  
Ginny surprised them both by bursting into tears.  
“That’s one way to try,” said George, passing her the tissues.  
“Let’s have dinner at Mom’s tonight. Like we used to when we were kids,” suggested Ginny.  
“Good idea.”  
“Don’t just say that and not come.”  
“I said it was a good idea.”  
“I want you to be there.”  
“Okay,” said George. He took the hand Ginny extended to him and stood up, bumping his head on the ceiling. “Ow,” he snapped and Ginny did laugh then.  
“Give me a minute to close up the shop,” said George.  
“Remember You Know Poo?” asked Ginny.  
George was laughing so hard that tears came into his eyes.  
“How could we forget?”  
\-----

"How was it?" asked Hermione anxiously. 

"Don't worry," said Harry. Hermione was the most capable wizard he had ever known and it killed him inside to see her so worried.

"What happened?"

"The goblins are Europe are getting restless. It's only a matter of time before the goblins at Gringotts get word of this."

Hermione sat down heavily in Harry's chair. Harry took the seat in front of his desk (stuffed with papers, dusty from disuse) reserved for guests. 

"I'll make a trip," said Hermione. "The house is so quiet anyway, I could use a change. Maybe I can mediate this."

Harry put his hand on hers.  "How's the family?"

"Ron is...Ron," said Hermione. "But he's even worse now that the kids are gone. I wish you could talk to him. How's Ginny?"

"Busy."

"Weird, isn't it? Sometimes I feel like my work self and my home self are two completely different lives. I wonder sometimes...why I married him," Hermione whispered.

"I'll come with you to Europe," Harry told Hermione.

"But you just went."

"I'll go again."

"Excuse me?" snapped a voice from the door. It was Ron. Hermione removed her hand from under Harry's as though it had been jinxed. 

"Ron..." Hermione said. "We were just talking."

"Can I talk to you?" said Ron, looking directly at Harry. "Alone?" 

Hermione left.

Ron sunk into a chair.

“I’m a selfish git,” said Harry.  
“No, guess again,” said Ron.  
“I’m a sorry excuse for a best friend.”  
“Guess again?”  
“I’m a prat with-“  
“You’re the chosen one!” yelled Ron, slamming his fist on the table. “Chosen to get everything! My family, my Quidditch dream, even my wife, the only thing that makes me happy….”  
“She’s not a thing,” said Harry.  
“I could kill you but then I’d be killing my brother in law. And Ginny? What do you think she’ll say?”  
“I’m sorry, Ron.”  
“Where’s the Elder wand now?” said Ron abruptly. “The most powerful wand in the world and you didn’t want it. where is it now?”  
“You know I can’t give it to you.”  
“Give me something!” yelled Ron. “You took Hermione! I’m a man with nothing now! Give me one fucking thing!”  
“I didn’t take Hermione,” said Harry quietly. “I care about her a lot. That's all. She needs you right now and you aren't being there for her.”

Ron put his head in his hands.

"Go home," said Harry. "Talk to her."

 

Sometimes Harry still dreamed about Cedric Diggory. The dreams were crowded with old memories and invented ones. Harry staring at Cedric as he walked down the Great Hall, Cedric telling him to use his bathroom, watching Cedric and Cho dance at the Yule Ball, the old jealousy replaced by fondness for a time when a noble man like Cedric Diggory was still alive. He imagined colliding with Cedric Diggory's broom in the middle of a Quidditch game, both of them tumbling to the ground. It would hurt horribly but it might be worth it.

"Harry! Harry!"

Harry jerked out of his day dream. Ginny was standing at the door, red eyed (been crying recently, Harry noted) and swaying (drunk? Harry wondered). 

"Ginny. What happened to your game?"

"We lost. 40-5."

"right," said Harry. 

"I heard you're going back to Europe," said Ginny abruptly. 

"Where'd you hear that?"

"Ron told me. I saw him on the way in. Nice to see you two talking again."

"I am," said Harry, tiredly. "I'll see you at home, okay?"

"I could help you out, if you want," offered Ginny. "Straighten this place out."

"it's official business," said Harry. "Very boring."

"I don't mind."

"I'll see you at home, alright?"

Ginny left without another word, slamming the door behind her so hard that the portrait Harry had commissioned of Dumbledore fell to the ground. 

Looking at it, Harry wondered what Dumbledore might have said. Harry honestly had no idea. Sometimes it was hard to come to terms with the fact that he hadn't really known Dumbledore at all. That Dumbledore had used him to fight his battles. That Dumbledore had left Harry without answers time and time again for no reason. 

The Dumbledore in the portrait was eating a chocolate frog. Harry placed the portrait face down on his desk, walked out and gently closed the door behind him. 

 

 


	2. Dinner at the Weasleys

Ginny was drunk, Molly noted disapprovingly. Harry and Hermione were off whispering in a corner, Ron was sulking, Arthur was nowhere to be found and George was late. Molly angrily stirred her pot of stew as she watched her family. 

"Dinner!" Molly yelled. 

Ginny was pulling George out of the fireplace, brushing floo powder off him and onto the floor. 

"Arthur! Dinner!" Molly yelled again, trying to control her scowl when she saw Harry glancing at her. Harry and Hermione, honorary Weasleys, having married in, had always seemed to have a little clique amongst themselves amidst the family bustle. Molly had never noticed just how close the two of them were until this very moment. 

"Harry, dear, you sit there, at the head of the table, Hermione, you sit at the other end, Ginny here, Ron here..." Molly trailed off when she realized no one was listening. 

"S'quiet without the kids," said George listlessly. 

"When are you leaving?" snapped Ron at Hermione. 

"Tomorrow night."

"I'll go get Arthur," said Harry, eager to find any excuse to leave the room, Molly noted. What had happened to the family? How had they become such a mess without her noticing? It seemed to Molly that she had closed her eyes for a moment to the sounds of little children playing mock quidditch in her backyard and opened them to...whatever this was. Everyone seemed lost. Even Molly, though she could scarcely admit it to herself.

 

"Harry! Just the person I wanted to see!" beamed Arthur, holding up an iPhone. "Look at this!"

In Arthur Weasley's shed, Harry was the voice of authority, the Muggle expert in residence. Hermione rarely had time or the interest to visit Arthur's collection of artifacts. Only Harry still visited Arthur there. Sometimes Arthur called him Bill by accident. Harry never corrected him. 

There was a sleeping mat on the floor.

"You staying in here, then?" asked Harry.

"Just for when I need a kip," said Arthur quickly, looking intently at the iPhone. 

Harry pulled out his wand to neaten the place a little. 

"What are you doing?" yelled Arthur.

"Oh, I just thought you might want-"

"Harry, please. This is a sanctuary," said Arthur slowly, as though he was explaining quantum physics to a very dumb child. "There is no magic in here. This is my collection."

Harry looked around, noticing the computer that had made its way onto the desk, the television in the corner and stacks of movies piled haphazardly around the room. 

"It's been a while since I came around, I guess," said Harry.

"Three months."

"So you don't use magic at all in here? Where's your wand?"

Arthur looked at Harry. "Can you keep a secret?"

Harry nodded. 

Arthur sat down and pulled open a desk drawer, revealing the shattered remnants of his old wand. "Threw it into the Whomping Willow," said Arthur gleefully. 

"We have tools in the Ministry that might be able to fix this," said Harry. 

"Harry," whispered Arthur, looking quite manic, "I don't want to fix it. I don't want a wand. I don't need one anymore."

Harry was silent. 

"Okay," Harry said finally, awkwardly putting a hand on Arthur's shoulder.

"I've been calling and calling you!" said Molly, throwing open the door. "What have you been up to?"

Arthur slammed the drawer shut. 

Harry got up. 

"You coming?" Harry asked Arthur.

Arthur groaned and got up, lagging behind Harry, mumbling to himself about cameras and flash photography. Harry tried not to stare at Arthur's sneakers and ill fitting jeans. He had never seen his father in law in Muggle clothes before. 

"It's a new look," said Arthur. "D'you like it?"

Molly disappeared into the house.

"Looks...fresh," said Harry. "I like it."

Arthur beamed again and vanished into the house behind Harry, stuffing the lock to his tool shed into his pockets. 


	3. Draco's Mess

Molly Weasley. Bloody awful woman, dragging her grandchildren by the ears to the platform 9 ¾, stuffing sandwiches in their hands while Harry and Ginny watched uneasily. Draco knew Harry could see him from across the train station.  
“What if I’m not in Slytherin?” Scorpius asked Draco.  
“How could you not be?” Draco demanded. “You’re smart, clever, ambitious…”  
And then Scorpius was gone.  
“Draco,” said a cool, brisk voice that somehow still sounded pleasant to Draco. He looked up to see Hermione Granger.  
“Hermione,” he said. They shook hands.  
He knew Hermione had seen him at Fred’s funeral. Somehow Draco knew Hermione had told Harry but not Ron. Draco knew there was a faint dusting of gray in his blonde curls, that his features had softened into middle aged mediocrity, that he no longer looked like the Prince of Slytherin.  
Malfoy Manor would be empty without Scorpius. All there would be left to do would be to prowl through the house, thinking about his years at Hogwarts, watching Hermione and Harry Potter eat breakfast from across the great hall, crying in the bathroom to Moaning Myrtle, worrying about his mother, pushing Pansy Parkinson away, losing to Gryffindor over and over again, watching Goyle die….He imagined Potter did the same thing, with different memories. Potter was too stupid to realize how jealous Draco had been of him. To have friends that were his equals (or greater, in Hermione's case) that loved him fiercely...  
“You live inside a pensieve! And that pensieve is your head!” Astoria had screamed at him earlier that morning before running away in tears.  
“Mother.”  
“Draco,” whispered Narcissa affectionately. “Where is Scorpius?”  
Narcissa’s love for Scorpius was unparalleled. He was the spitting image of Draco as a child and Draco had heard his mother call Scorpius Draco absent mindedly on more than one occasion. That had been another fight with Astoria.  
“She’s loopy! We should put her in Saint Mungo’s and be done!”  
“She is my mother! She stays here!”  
Draco had been tempted to add that he would sooner put Astoria in St Mungo’s but thankfully stopped himself on time.  
“Scorpius went to school, mother.”  
“He’s such a good boy. Did he take his firebolt?”  
Draco nodded, refusing to tell his mother that the firebolt was a broom model more than fifteen years old.  
“Can you sit with me for a while?” Narcissa asked Draco. Draco hesitated.  
“Where is your father?” Narcissa pleaded.  
“I’ll stay,” said Draco, relenting.

“I don’t know what to do,” Draco mumbled to the portrait of his father in his study.  
“You’re depressed,” snapped Lucius coldly. “Go do something.”

“Goyle,” said Draco. The word was not a welcoming statement. It was a warning.  
“Came to see my old friend. Can’t I do that anymore?”  
“It’s not a good time.”  
“Astoria in? I’m hungry.”  
“Astoria doesn’t cook.”  
“Call a house elf, willya?”  
“Goyle. You’re drunk.”  
“Yeh, I’ve had a couple butterbeers. You never used to mind…”  
Draco pushed the unwilling Goyle towards the fireplace, threw some Floo powder in it and barked out Goyle’s address.  
“What happened to you?” Goyle yelled. “I thought we were friends!”  
“We were!”  
“So what’s the matter with you?”  
“Look, I’ll come by tomorrow, alright?”  
This was a lie he had told Goyle many times, but Goyle agreed.


	4. Sleep is for the Dead

“Go home, George. You’re drunk,” said Molly, as kindly as she could manage this late in the evening.   
“I’m not George, I’m Fred. How can you call yourself my mother?” slurred George. “I’ll sleep in my room.”  
George started towards the stairs while Molly covered her eyes. Harry looked positively exhausted, Ron looked peaky and Ginny seemed angry. Arthur had already gone back to his shed.   
“I’ll take him home,” Hermione volunteered. No one protested. Hermione slung an arm around George and apparated to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.   
“Want a drink?” George offered.   
“No thanks. I have to get an early start tomorrow morning.”  
“Cuppa tea?”  
“I really shouldn’t.”  
“It’s settled, then,” said George, with a ghost of his old grin. “Do come in.”  
“I hope you’re not still selling those love potions,” said Hermione, running her hands over a package of Extendable Ears.   
“Fred made us stop making them after-“  
“Romilda Vane? I was the one who told Fred about that.”  
“He always liked you, y’know. Said you were the smartest…witch.”  
George swiped at his dry eyes as though he had expected to be crying.   
“I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” promised Hermione, as though she was putting one of her children to bed.  
“Be nice to Ron,” George mumbled. Hermione pretended she hadn’t heard.  
“He loves you,” George said.   
“We all love you,” said Hermione. “Just get some sleep. Everything will be better in the morning.”  
George mumbled something indiscernible and closed his eyes. Hermione laid a blanket over him, put a basin next to his bed in case he had to vomit and closed the creaky door behind her before apparating home, where she looked at the house for a few moments before sighing and apparating to the Ministry of Magic where she had work to do and a mat in the corner.

“Mind if I stay here tonight?” Ron asked.   
“Where’s Hermione?” said Molly.   
“Working late. The house is too quiet without the kids.”  
“I know what you mean,” sighed Molly. “Help me with these dishes?”  
Ron rolled up his sleeves.   
“Do you think I did something wrong?” Ron said, facing the sink and scrubbing fiercely.  
“No,” said Molly. “You’re…good.”  
Ron was silent, the sounds of a Celestina Warbeck record playing faintly from the next room.   
“I know I didn’t say that to you a lot…when you were younger.”  
Ron looked around the Burrow. It was squashy and messy and comfortable and small but it wasn’t his home anymore.   
“I’m going to go home,” said Ron. “I can’t fit into my old bed anyway.”  
“Say goodnight to your father before you go,” said Molly.

“Ronald,” said Draco. “Fancy meeting you here.”  
“I came to see my wife,” snapped Ron. “What the hell are you doing here?”  
Draco didn’t answer, rapping sharply on Hermione’s door instead.   
“Come in,” a voice called faintly.   
Ron pushed past Draco and into the room.   
“Ron!”  
“I came to see if I could help.”  
Hermione stood up just as Draco entered.   
“Heard about the goblins,” said Draco awkwardly. “Thought I could be of service.”  
“At this hour of the night?” sneered Ron. “Can you give me a moment alone with my wife?”  
“Of course,” said Draco, gracefully slipping out the door.  
“Come home.” The words spilled out of Ron’s mouth by themselves. It was an unspoken rule in the family that Ron never questioned Hermione’s work or made her choose between work and family. There had never been a plea like this before.   
“I…can’t. Ron, the third wizarding war might be beginning. The Magical Creatures are furious about the inbred prejudices-‘  
“I don’t care,” said Ron.   
“Well, I do,” said Hermione hotly. “Just because it isn’t dark magic doesn’t mean it isn’t dangerous! This can be prevented and I’m trying my best and if you can’t understand that then…”  
“What? I go home alone again? I stay up all night waiting for you? What?”  
“I’m sorry, Ron,” said Hermione. “I don’t think this is working anymore.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“I’m sorry, Ron. I love you. Just not like that, anymore.”  
Flashes of playful arguments and long nights spent whispering to each other in bed, honeymoons in Albania, presiding over Crookshanks’ burial, holding Hermione’s hand when she declared her desire to run for Minister, making her the first Ministress of Magic.   
“What are you saying?”  
“I don’t want you to suffer. You’re not happy, I’m not happy. When the kids aren’t home we barely talk. Maybe it would be for the best-“  
Ron stepped out of the office, looking dumbly around him, and Hermione followed. They both had to step around Draco’s sleeping body to reach the hallway.   
“Nox,” said Hermione, turning off the hallways lights as she walked, sinking them further and further into darkness.


End file.
